


Ten Years Before the Flood

by j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Complicated Relationships, Dom!Martin, Enemies to Lovers, Foreplay, M/M, Polyamory, Sexual Tension, ace character having sex, fanon soft Elias, love triangle resolved with ot3, timeline what timeline?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: Martin had been the one to wonder about Elias's motivations in the first place, had stopped Jon on his way to another meeting to say, "Don't you think it's strange that all the sudden Elias has you meeting with him every other day?"//Martin, Elias, and Jon negotiate a temporary truce, and find an equilibrium.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 20
Kudos: 152





	Ten Years Before the Flood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonbsims](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonbsims/gifts).



> Dear jonbsims, this was the fic I really meant to write for the [TMA Rarepair Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmararepairs2020) but the brain weasels would not cooperate and I missed every single deadline related to that exchange. I'm so sorry it's so late, but I could not abandon the possibility of soft Elias/Jon/Martin.

This is a terrible idea. This is a terrible idea, and Jon is going to expire from sheer embarrassment before anything even happens, because sex is awkward enough without having to talk about it and this has been not only talked about but planned, negotiated, and scheduled. He can't imagine what he was thinking. He wasn't thinking, he was _curious_ , and now Elias is standing there in his bedroom, next to the bed he shares with Martin more often than not, shrugging off his suit jacket and undoing his tie.

He can still feel the pressure of Martin's lips on his own, from where Martin had kissed him so thoroughly while they were waiting for Elias to arrive. Jon had begged him to; anything to stop him from yammering on out of sheer nerves and talking himself out of the thing at the last minute. And Martin had held his face gently in his hands and kissed him until he couldn't think of anything else and promised him that if he didn't want to go through with it he didn't have to, and Jon had had to admit that he did still want it, which was almost as bad, honestly.

Jon licks his lips, chasing the reminder, and Elias's gaze falls to his mouth. When he looks back up there's a heat in his eyes that sends something twisting in Jon's gut, not unpleasantly.

"May I?" Elias asks, all politeness, and although Jon isn't quite sure what he's asking he knows what his answer is. His voice comes out humiliatingly strained when he gives his assent, and then Elias looks over Jon's shoulder at Martin, who's sat in the reading chair in the corner of the room, watching silently, as they'd all agreed.

Jon risks a glance; Martin is giving them a look Jon has never seen turned on him, hard and stern. It probably shouldn't send the thrill down his spine that it does. Martin gives Elias a slight nod, and Elias makes a soft, unintelligible noise before taking Jon by the wrist and drawing him closer. He cups his other hand around the back of Jon's neck and leans down just slightly to kiss him.

Elias kisses like he does everything else: with great patience and thoroughness, taking the time to do the thing properly. Jon grabs at his arms to steady himself, and Elias is strong and unmoving beneath his hands. He doesn't realize he's forgetting to breathe until Elias pulls away, nipping softly at his lower lip, and he has to gasp for air. He's fully prepared to feel foolish about being so undone by a simple kiss, but when he can focus again he finds that Elias is looking rather flushed and breathless as well, which gives Jon the courage to tug at Elias's shirt and pull him back to kiss him again. Elias gives him only a moment before dropping the hand on his neck to the small of his back and nuzzling into the corner of his jaw, pressing a gentle kiss there before sinking in his teeth and drawing out a weak moan.

This was decidedly not where Jon had ever expected to end up, and perhaps that meant that he should have been more attentive to Martin's concerns sooner on. Martin, after all, had been the one to wonder about Elias's motivations in the first place, had stopped Jon on his way to another meeting to say, "Don't you think it's strange that all the sudden Elias has you meeting with him every other day?"

Jon had no idea what to say to that; in truth he hadn't thought anything of it at all, although on reflection it was something of a change. When he'd first started at the Institute he had met with Elias regularly, despite there being no particular reason to do so. He'd been a researcher, one of many, and perhaps proud that the Head of the Institute had taken an interest in his work. Perhaps it was strange that those meetings had become fewer and fewer after he'd been promoted, but at the time he'd been too overwhelmed to notice. But now that Elias had admitted some of the truth behind the Institute and his actions –

"How else are we supposed to know what he's planning?" he finally said, aware of how pathetic an answer it was.

Martin hummed skeptically, but he let it drop for the time being. Still, he always seemed to be around following those meetings, and the first time Jon had come back from one of them flushed after having been kissed breathless, he sat down and would not be moved until Jon could satisfy him that he hadn't been threatened or pressured. By the end of that awkward, stammering conversation Martin had relaxed and they had, somehow, arranged to go out to dinner.

And it had carried on like that, somehow, awkward and breathless and mostly unacknowledged, until last week, when Elias had actually come down to the Archives to speak with them both. He'd been so matter-of-fact it had taken Jon several minutes to piece together what exactly he was proposing, and by the time he'd started sputtering objections Elias and Martin were deep into planning negotiations.

He isn't sputtering now, Elias notes with delight. Instead he's making the most delightful noises, soft and deep in his throat, while his hands clutch desperately at Elias's shoulders. He crowds Jon gently toward the bed, letting his hands come to settle on Jon's hips for a lingering moment before moving swiftly to undo his trousers.

Jon goes down so sweetly, trusting the hand in the small of his back not to let him fall, even if he blushes fiercely when Elias relieves him of his trousers and briefs. He leans back to deal with his own, but Jon is much too tempting like this, flushed and breathless and half-naked underneath him, cock curving hard against the softness of his belly. Elias gives up and plants a knee between Jon's spread thighs, leaning down to kiss him again, to taste those helpless noises on his tongue.

His Archivist is so pliant and willing, he can't resist the urge to hold him down and see what it takes to get Jon to push back against him; he goes limp to the pressure of Elias's hands around his wrists, leaning his full weight into them, so he drops his weight down to his hips, grinding them together and drawing a low, full-throated moan from Jon that hums through both of their bodies, and wraps one hand around the Archivist's vulnerable throat.

"Absolutely not."

The voice from the corner of the room is quiet but firm; Elias makes a point of lingering for a moment (though perhaps not as long a moment as he might) before removing his hand. Jon whines at the loss, then finds his breath and pleads, "Martin–"

Martin Blackwood meets Elias's gaze steadily, although his lips are parted and he's breathing hard. In the dim light of the bedroom – Jon's demand, an easy concession to make – he can't make out much else. Elias shifts his grip back to Jon's wrists, gripping bruisingly hard, and Martin licks his lips. Elias watches him, curious as to what he'll do next.

"You don't have to force him," Martin says, and his voice is still low and steady. "You'll be good for us, Jon, won't you?"

Jon gasps a barely coherent agreement, and when Elias takes his hands from Jon's wrists, they stay pinned to the bed. "Well done," Elias murmurs, and Jon writhes beneath him.

His Archivist has always been weak for praise; it's so transparently obvious that it barely merits being called an insight. Which has never lessened the pleasure Elias feels in watching Jon stammer and blush under the weight of a complement or a scrap of admiration. He's so terribly easy to fluster, which is probably why Elias had begun to give in to the temptation to see just how far he could push. If he lavished Jon with praise, would he grow accustomed to it, lose those delightful reactions?

So far he has not.

There was never any real need for Jon to read statements in Elias's office, for the Archivist to take the aged documents from his own hands and clear his throat uncomfortably before he settled into the steady rhythm of another man's words, another man's fear. It was pure self-indulgence; but after two hundred years, he justified to himself, he could bear a little self-indulgence. Jon's voice was low and resonant, and it sent a shiver down Elias's spine to hear him reading the words he'd heard before in another voice: _My dearest Jonah..._

It had been a long time since he had sat in the same room with an Archivist; the combined feedback of hearing the statement aloud and the way it resonated through the Eye was a heady combination, and in the quiet aftermath where Jon would usually record his comments – too embarrassed, apparently, to do it in Elias's presence, though surely he knew that they were never really private – he felt almost as though he had to recover from the experience.

"Excellent, Jon," he said, and Jon ducked his head awkwardly in response, fiddling with the tape recorder for a moment before shutting it off.

"Are you going to tell me what any of that was about?" he asks, acerbic in lieu of admitting to his own vulnerability.

Elias didn't bother hiding his smile. "Is that really what you want? Wouldn't you much rather find out for yourself, and not have to trust that I'm telling you the truth?"

Jon scowled back at him with a heat that implied he'd never suspected that Elias would lie to him. Charming man. "Then why drag me up here in the first place, if you're only going to be as unhelpfully obscure as ever?"

The compulsion shivers across his skin and Elias closes his eyes to savor it, allowing his other eyes to enjoy the way Jon flushes at the reminder of his reactions. "Can I not wish to enjoy the pleasure of my Archivist's company?"

"Oh, I– I mean, that–" He bit his tongue and started again. "Are you–sure this is the best use of both our time?"

Elias hummed. "Very possibly not. But then, efficiency isn't everything." Jon scowled again, not fiercely enough to hide his pleased embarrassment.

When he returned to the Archives, Martin was there waiting for him with a cup of tea and his stubbornly persistent presence, clearly prepared to hover around Jon until he was told to go away. Which, of course, Jon was in no way prepared to do. Elias watched the dance with some amusement. Jon enjoyed being fussed over, though he'd never admit it; what worried him was the appearance of the thing, superior and subordinate, not to mention his own profound self-doubt about his suitability as a romantic partner. And, Elias was pleased to note, a lingering sense of conflict about his relationship with Elias himself. Between that and the fact that it seemed increasingly likely that Martin Blackwood was harboring similar suspicions about his intentions, Elias thought that he would be able to play this little drama out into something very interesting indeed.

It's _really_ not fair how good they look together. Martin finds himself pathetically grateful for the low light filtering through the bedroom curtains, both because he's honestly not sure how he would survive this with better lighting and because he can either keep his voice steady or disguise how hard he is, and has been for the past twenty minutes, but he absolutely cannot do both.

Elias probably knows anyway, the bastard.

Maybe that ought to bother him more.

But the noises he's drawing out of Jon are intoxicating, low and helpless and debauched. Jon hasn't moved since Martin asked him (told him) to be good, melting bonelessly into the mattress under Elias's hands and mouth, except for a few careful adjustments at Elias's suggestion. And Martin can't begrudge him that; orders given in that voice have always been – well, he can only imagine what they must be like whispered into your ear.

When Elias finally wraps his hand around Jon's cock (considerately propping himself up on his other side, so that Martin has an excellent view), Martin gives in and squeezes himself hard through his trousers.

"On your knees," Elias says, and Jon turns to look at _him_ before he obeys. It makes Martin's head swim and it's all he can do to nod, and he's sure that a corner of that smile Elias is wearing as he steers Jon into place is meant for him.

Which – all right, that's fine, and if the privacy of his own head _was_ the privacy of his own head, maybe he would admit that he likes the kick of heat in his stomach, but instead he waits until Elias is about to take his hand away from Jon's back and says, "Farther."

Jon breathes his name and Elias quirks an eyebrow at him, but he does as he's told, pressing down until Jon's spine is bent in a sharp arch and Martin stops him from going too far with a quiet word. There's a tension in the thread of power between them, how much Elias will pull, how much Martin is willing to give, which is a heady feeling all on its own.

Not least because it's still so unfamiliar, this sense that Elias might actually have some degree of respect for him. He can't put a finger on when it started, exactly – sometime after he'd realized that Elias must have known the entire time that he was lying about his education and work history, known and been laughing to himself for _years_ – but he also can't remember the last time it was that Elias was actually dismissive of him. Well, more than his usual background level of smug superiority. Which was probably why the revelation that he was actually some kind of supernaturally-powered possibly-immortal mind reader just made him more annoying, rather than any more intimidating.

It still took him almost a week to work himself up to confronting Elias one of those increasingly frequent times he'd come down to the Archives looking for Jon. "I know what you're trying to do," he accused, and Elias had smiled that infuriating smile of his, like he knew something no one else did and found that _delightful._

"I highly doubt that," he said in answer, but he turned his full attention to Martin, waiting patiently for an explanation.

Martin snorted and glared back. Elias's smile went sharp and self-satisfied. The part of him that had been half-terrified of his boss since the day he was hired was appalled; the part of him that had made up a Master's in Paranormal Psychology said, "I don't know why you think trying to _seduce_ Jon is going to make him like you. He doesn't–" He bit his tongue before he said something he'd hate himself for later.

"Oh, I've often found that curiosity is a much more...lingering motivation than mere attraction." He gave Martin an assessing look, and wait, was he implying that Martin was _attractive_?

He decided to deal with that unlikely possibility much, much later. "I know you think you're more important than the rest of us," he said instead, "and cleverer, and more dangerous, but some of us might still surprise you, you know."

"I can only hope so," Elias murmured, just as the door swung open and Jon stepped out of his office at last. The warm look he cast Martin's way before acknowledging Elias was enough to settle the last of his remaining irritation, so long as he didn't think too hard about exactly what he was jealous of when Elias's hand settled on Jon's back as they walked away.

The mattress shifts significantly as Elias gets up and, on his other site, Martin sits down next to him, running his fingers through the sweaty mess of Jon's hair and dropping a kiss on his forehead. "All right?" he says softly.

"Mmm." Opening his eyes is far too much effort, but leaning into Martin's touch is no effort at all. He considers. A little sore, perhaps, but not notably so; Martin warm and steady by his side and Elias across the hall in the bathroom and a lingering presence in the back of his mind, sharp and surprisingly affectionate. He's very much better than all right.

"Curiosity satisfied?"

That is a much more difficult question to answer, and wholly unfair at his current state of exhaustion, but there's something acerbic behind Martin's voice when he asks, so Jon turns further into him and drapes an arm over his lap, nuzzling into his hip. Martin laughs and runs his hand down Jon's back, pulling him closer; an acceptable outcome.

He's very near to drifting off to sleep when Martin says, in that same quiet, firm voice that still sends a shiver running down Jon's spine, "Not just planning on disappearing, are you?"

After a lingering pause, Elias carefully says, "Of course not," and the mattress dips again. Jon presses back ever so slightly into the arm wrapped around his waist and the kiss pressed gently into his shoulder, tugging Martin down as he does so that he doesn't have to pull away from either of them.

This was still probably a terrible idea. He can feel Martin and Elias watching each other warily over his head, and tomorrow there will be more uncomfortable conversations, more negotiations. For now, though, Jon is not interested in worrying about it, worn out and safe between the two of them, and willing to let tomorrow take care of itself.


End file.
